


Blood Divinity

by sayhitoforever



Series: In Every Universe [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Blood, Happy Ending, M/M, Post canon, because obviously, canon compliant i guess?, i said what i said, just a buncha subtle fucking feelings, only angsty fluff, there is no plot here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25301803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayhitoforever/pseuds/sayhitoforever
Summary: It ends in blood and pain, and Ichigo giving away more than he ever intended to.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Series: In Every Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1832818
Comments: 32
Kudos: 194





	Blood Divinity

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday Ichigo! (it's still July 15th here, it counts, cowards)
> 
> In which I desperately start a series for my drabbles because my gift count went above my work count and I don't know how to process that like a real person.
> 
> This will be the first drabble for my series: In Every Universe. A likely collection of fics of varying lengths of these two morons being utterly infatuated with each other.

* * *

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Grimmjow demanded, tearing through Ichigo’s shihakusho with a sharp claw to get to the wound.

The pain in Ichigo’s upper right arm had already subsided to the absolute numbness of a gaping injury, brain blocking out the immense pain there. He was, if anything, more distracted by how _gentle_ Grimmjow was being, opting to shred what was left of Ichigo’s sleeve off to get a proper look like he had any idea what he was doing.

The thing was, Ichigo hadn’t really given it any _thought_ at all. Damn Urahara and his stupid invention. Whole damn thing had felt like an amusement park funhouse gone wrong. Kido-enchanted gigai dummies swinging soulless blades, meant to help hone their reflexes for sensory-deprived situations, or whatever god awful spiel he’d given. _A good training exercise_! Urahara had concluded gleefully before shoving the both of them into the confined, black-dungeon-dark space without so much as a comprehensible explanation.

A funhouse from hell, with Grimmjow at his back, his snarl audible even over the clang of swords. It was almost too easy to shift gears from fighting against Grimmjow to fighting beside him. They were so accustomed now to training with each other, once a day every single week, like clockwork, that they moved around each other effortlessly, fluidly. Ichigo almost wished the situation were entirely different because he had grown a bit obsessed with watching Grimmjow fight. Occasionally Yoruichi would humor him and Ichigo would sit off on the sidelines and relish the sounds of both their gleeful, nigh maniacal laughter as they sparred. Grimmjow may come off as nothing but raw, brute power when he fought Ichigo, but Ichigo had begun to wonder if he was only that way because it was the easiest approach to _match_ Ichigo. Against Yoruichi, Grimmjow was… graceful, movements almost sinuous, predatory, hypnotic to watch.

It was one gigai, moving faster than the others, that Ichigo had caught out of the corner of his eye, blade pointed at Grimmjow’s unsuspecting back. And Ichigo, he really hadn’t thought about it. He’d just _moved_ , stuck his arm out, meant to block the blade with his own, ended up taking the whole sword through his bicep.

“Well, I—” he cut himself off as Grimmjow finally got his sleeve off, revealing the absolute mess his arm now was. Just red, rent flesh, a whole chunk gouged out, just _missing_. Ichigo swallowed down a rush of bile in his throat and looked away sharply.

“You stupid motherfucker,” Grimmjow hissed, gentle, now clawless fingers grasping above the wound. He shifted his whole body instead of moving Ichigo’s arm in the slightest to get a better look. And Ichigo watched him move wordlessly, watched with wide eyes as Grimmjow’s own blue ones cataloged the extent of the damage.

“So, what’s the outlook, Doc? Am I gonna live?” Ichigo tried to joke, staring at a lock of Grimmjow’s hair that was plastered to his temple with sweat. He wanted to reach over there and just, brush it aside, because he hated it when his own hair did that, and it had to be annoying.

“Bit outta my wheelhouse, asshole,” Grimmjow huffed from around the remnants of Ichigo’s torn sleeve now secured between his teeth. Ichigo had one brief second to think _ew_ , _blood, that’s unsanitary, what the hell Grimmjow_ , before pain as blinding as lightning shot up his arm as Grimmjow gently prodded the lowest edge of the wound. He yelped, couldn’t stop himself, and Grimmjow’s eyes went crazy-wide, still so ludicrously blue in the terrible lighting of Urahara’s torture chamber. “Fuck, _sorry_.”

He let go of Ichigo’s arm entirely, and it was then that Ichigo realized that Grimmjow had been gripping his arm tight enough to act like a tourniquet. A fresh flood of blood oozed from the wound, running down his arm, dripping off his numb, useless fingers down to the ever-growing puddle beneath it on the floor. Grimmjow didn’t hesitate in spitting Ichigo’s sleeve into his own bloody hand, _Ichigo’s blood_ , and moving to wind it tight around Ichigo’s arm just at his shoulder. Grimmjow hesitated, just for a second, blue gaze swinging up to Ichigo’s pale, clammy face, before he cinched it real tight. All Ichigo had the energy for was an agonizing hiss that eased out of him on a sharp exhale as his arm tingled with the pins and needles of interrupted blood flow.

“C’mon,” Grimmjow murmured, picking Pantera up from the ground where he’d left her and sheathing her at his hip once more. “And don’t fucking do something like this again.”

“I didn’t—” Ichigo snapped back as Grimmjow started to stand up. He didn’t get very far, because Grimmjow was doubled over again, his bloody hand holding Ichigo’s jaw in a vise grip.

Grimmjow’s eyes were wide and wild that close, blue, _so blue_ , so close that they were all Ichigo could see. “ _Don’t do something like that again,”_ he reiterated in a tight voice, tighter even than his hold on Ichigo’s jaw, teeth of his mask clacking as he shut his mouth, which was— that was...

“It was going to stab you, you dumbass,” Ichigo said right into Grimmjow’s bloody palm. And great, that was just great, Ichigo was going to have a print of Grimmjow’s own hand in Ichigo’s own blood on his face now when they got out of here. That wasn’t going to lead to any good questions from anybody. God, he could practically taste the warm copper, could definitely smell it considering it was all but smeared under his nose.

“Then you should have let it,” Grimmjow said like it was that simple, like it was the easiest thing in the universe, _like Ichigo could ever let that happen_.

And, well, shit.

That precise thought must have been written all over Ichigo’s stupid face because Grimmjow leaned back a little, as though he needed to get a proper look at it, eyes going all weird and soft at the corners, the ever-permanent snarl in his brow and lips relaxing to something bordering on questioning, marveling almost. His fingers eased their hold on Ichigo’s face, became less of a threat and more of a bloody caress.

“You should have let it,” Grimmjow murmured, eyes flitting all over Ichigo’s face, disbelief plain in his gaze, as if whatever he was seeing could only be a lie.

His hand was moving, fingers shifting to the underside of Ichigo’s chin, thumb coasting smoothly, still wet with blood, across Ichigo’s lips. The pungent, coppery stench of his own blood smeared across his face would have, _should have_ , been enough to ruin the moment. But the soft frown pulling Grimmjow’s lips down, the edge of fondness in those blue eyes that Ichigo had been dreaming about since the first time he’d seen them. Fond, still searching like they were looking for the lie, for the deception, for the one little thing that would have said what he was seeing was just a shitty joke.

“Next time then,” Ichigo whispered as Grimmjow’s thumb did another slow pass across his bottom lip. “You can get gouged for me and then we’ll be even.”

And Grimmjow’s smile, not his usual legendary, maniacal grin, was slow, and agonizingly tender, small and soft and only for Ichigo. It sent a fresh thrill of adrenalin through his battered body, even as Grimmjow’s hand fell away from his cheek and reached for his good arm to help haul him to his feet.

“Deal.”


End file.
